


Family matters

by Vixen86



Category: The Seven Realms Series - Cinda Williams Chima
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Canon Compliant, F/M, Marisa Pines Camp, Mother-Son Relationship, Other, Pre-Demon King, Protecting Your Loved Ones, Southbridge, Taking on responsibilities, The Raggers, Unreliable Narrator, Worry, hard choices, ragmarket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen86/pseuds/Vixen86
Summary: "She looked into his eyes to ascertain whether he had gotten her meaning. He had.  Even so, she needed his word.'Promise me you’ll quit the gang life.'It took Hanson long enough to answer, but eventually, he said, 'I promise, Mam,' in a low, steady voice, looking her dead in the eye."Han Alister has given up being the Raggers' streetlord. He is about to move back in with his mother and sister, a situation that comes with its own challenges. Sali Alister is telling her son what she expects from him if he wants to live under her roof again.This work consists of two stories (so they're not really chapters) which, I think, work best if you read them back-to-back.
Relationships: Han Alister/Cat Tyburn, Sali Alister/Dan Alister
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. Blood of the Demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, there's this line in The Demon King where Han tells his Mam that he promised her in the fall that he isn't with the Raggers anymore. For some reason, I always find it 'offensive' when characters have important conversations out of earshot of us, the readers. So I was wondering what that conversation was like, though I'm pretty sure that in any case, Sali Alister did most of the talking.
> 
> While reading the Demon King, it really struck me how unwilling Sali is to listen to anything Han has to say, and how she flat out refuses to see him for who he really is. I wrote the first story from Sali's point of view, to explore what she _does_ see, then, when she's talking to Han and why she treats him the way she does.
> 
> Any comments/thoughts/amendments are, as always, much appreciated!

Sali Alister was sitting at her small dining table, exhausted after long hours of doing laundry for people whose pockets were deep enough they needn’t strain themselves. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she had to get started on ragpicking, her other job. Her hands were raw, the skin had practically peeled away. On some days, like now, her fingers hurt so bad, she could hardly bend them. She closed her hands around a cup of tea, for warmth and temporary relief from the pain. The cup itself was worn smooth with long use, cracked in more than one place. Sali gave her surroundings a critical look-over. So much that needed to be done, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Mari was sitting in front of the hearth, drawing, and Sali said a silent prayer for speaker Jemson, who had provided her daughter with the materials. They had a fire going, though it was still early September. Mari coughed from breathing in the toxic fumes, which surely were already eating away at her lungs. It couldn’t be helped. It was that, or freeze to death come winter.

She expected Hanson to come home any day now, after spending the summer at Marisa Pines Camp. The last time she had seen her son was nearly four months ago, when he had come to her to inform her he would go to Marisa Pines for a while. He had also asked for permission to move back in with her and Mari in the fall. Before that, she hadn’t seen him for over three years, and had only known he was alive by the steady trickle of money he kept sending her way, occasionally accompanied by a nondescript note. That, and the rumors she heard about him in the streets. When she saw him this spring, he had grown impossibly tall. The boyish softness had all but disappeared from his face, and made way for the more angular features of a man. Somewhere along the way, he’d also gotten a jagged scar, too close to his right eye. Still, he had looked very young and almost small when he made his request, well aware of the fact she might say no. She hadn’t, but had made it _very_ clear that things needed to change if he wanted to come back home after the summer.

It was close to Hanson’s sixteenth name day, though it took Sali a moment to remember whether it still had to come to pass, or had already passed. She couldn’t believe it had been nearly sixteen years since Elena _Cennestre_ Demonai had showed up on her doorstep, asking her Demonai watchdogs to stay outside so they could talk in private. Daniel had been away at that time, fighting some battle or other, for a cause that was nothing to him.

Without much preamble, the matriarch of Demonai Camp had told her that her newborn son quite literally carried the blood of the Demon. She had fastened sturdy-looking silver bracelets around Hanson’s wrists, assuring Sali they were magicked to grow along with him. It was supposedly for his own protection, but they both had known it was to keep his innate wickedness bridled in. Elena had promised her a small monthly stipend if she kept her mouth shut, a certain death if she didn’t. At times, Sali could still feel a pang of guilt for thinking in that moment, that she should have sent her son to the Breaker at birth.

Despite the cuffs, Hanson turned out to be made for trouble. Sweet Merciful Lady save him, he was a prideful one. An unfavorable trait in the likes of them. She could see where this would take him. Killing someone, or getting killed, gaol or gallows. Sali had done everything in her power to set him straight, had tried to chase off the demon inside him with a switch on numerous occasions, almost always regretting it immediately afterwards. It was at those times she missed Daniel the most. He had a way with their headstrong son, rarely raising his voice, never laying a hand on him, and still getting Hanson to do whatever he asked of him.

Sali would be the first to admit that Daniel tended to act on impulse, but when it came to raising their son, she had always compared her husband to the Dyrnewater coming down from the Spirit Mountains: steady, determined and patient enough to reshape even the most solid of rocks. She herself, though, was more like those fumaroles one could find in the mountain caves: quick to flare up, scalding and poisoning everything that crossed her path.

It was just one of the many reasons why it was such a shame Daniel was away from home most of the year. Whenever he returned from the front, he’d bring back iron to support them, aye, but also a light, that Sali could impossibly find within herself. Whenever he had to leave again, she always found herself wishing he’d be back, before he was out the door. _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._

One day a missive had come, written in a careless hand, stating that ‘Private D. Alister’ wouldn’t be coming home anymore. And that was that. Whoever had written it hadn’t even bothered with insincere words of sympathy. The letter had had a few girlies enclosed with it, undoubtedly considered to be ample recompense for having the light of her life extinguished.

Hanson seemed to have materialized in the room out of nowhere, his stealth being a byproduct of his chosen trade. Mari had already attached herself to his leg, and was clinging on for dear life. As far as she was concerned, the sun rose and set on her big brother, a sentiment he obviously reciprocated. He was pressing her close to him with one hand, and stroking her hair with the other, a radiant smile on his lips.

Clearly, life in the Spirit Mountains had agreed with him. Hanson had grown taller yet again. He was still of slender build, but more of the wiry variety now. Hours of sunlight had given his skin a bronze glow, setting off his blue eyes and blond hair. Both of these traits ran in their family, but where Sali’s own hair had the color and quality of flax, and her eyes were the blue of a winter sky, Daniel’s hair had been liquid gold, and he’d had the purest of sapphires for eyes. Even the blind could see Hanson favored his father.

While taking all of him in, Sali noticed he was wearing an infuriating pair of boots, definitely not the ones he’d had when he left for Marisa Pines in late spring. These were clan made, of exquisite quality, worth months of grain and kindling. They were also caked in mud, though some of that had already been left on her scrubbed floor. Dismay tugging at the corners of her mouth, she was about to point all of this out to him, when he looked up at her and said “Hello Mam,” almost shyly.

“Hello, Hanson,” she replied, deciding to discuss the boots later on. Sali caught his longing glance towards the straw mattress in the corner, but she would have none of that. At least, not until she’d had a proper conversation with her son, to remind him of what was expected from him from now on.

Sali rummaged in a small pottery jar sitting on the table, and managed to dig up some last pennies. “Mari, go to the baker's, and see if he has some old bread, will you?” she said, extending her arm to give the money to her daughter. Mari opened her mouth as if to protest, but seemed to think better of it. She took the coins, and listened obediently to Sali’s directions to stay on the Way of the Queens whenever she could, not to talk to strangers, and to come back home right away. When she was sure her daughter was out of earshot, Sali pushed the other chair from under the table with her foot. “Sit down, Hanson,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Wasting no time on pleasantries, she got straight to the point. “You’re almost sixteen now, a man grown,” she told her son. “It’s long time you stop running with thieves, and street rats, and whatnots, taking what an’t yours for the taking, thinking of no one else but yourself, not caring what Mari…”

“Hey, now!” he interjected, slamming both palms down on the table top. “That’s not…”

Sali held up her hand to silence him, not interested in whatever excuse he had to offer. He glared at her from across the table, his eyes having some winter in them after all.

“Your days on the streets are over as of now, before you’ll end up in gaol, or worse,” she continued. “You an’t of much use alive, but you won’t be of _any_ use when you’re dead.” There was no taking back these words now, so she soldiered on. “If nothing else, at least think about what losing you will do to your sister. And what kind of example you’re setting for her, living the way you do.” That, at least, made an impression. Hanson flinched as if she’d just slapped him. “As soon as tomorrow, you’ll go into town and get yourself a decent job. You’ll take whatever you can find, work day and night if need be. You _will_ bow your head to your betters.” She didn’t fail to notice he was doing just that at the present moment. Good. “You _will_ hand over all of your pay to me, to be distributed as I see fit.” She thought of the years he hadn’t come home. “You _will_ come back here as soon as you’re done working.” She thought of the times he _had_ come home, sporting various cuts and bruises, limping, having fresh thief marks on his hands, or fingers bent at unnatural angles. Sali bunched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Make no mistake, Hanson Alister,” she vowed, “for I _will_ know if you an’t doing as I said.”

Time breathing down her neck, she was in a rush to say her piece. Before she had to get to work again, before Mari got home, before she would lose her son to the streets forever. “If I so much as hear a rumor about the illustrious streetlord _Cuffs Alister_ ,” she concluded, flinging the last two words at him, eyes gliding over his wristbands involuntarily, “You’d be best off not to come home at all.” Hanson was still intent on studying every grain in the wooden table top, slightly hunching over, jaw clenched. He showed no sign he’d even heard her. Sali gripped his chin, nails digging in deeper than strictly necessary, and forced his face up. She looked into his eyes to ascertain whether he had gotten her meaning. He had. Even so, she needed his word.

“Promise me you’ll quit the gang life.” 

It took Hanson long enough to answer, but eventually, he said, “I promise, Mam,” in a low, steady voice, looking her dead in the eye.

And just then, unexpected and unbidden, a lifetime worth of strain and worry came crashing down on her, taking inches off her height and adding years to her age. She let her gaze linger on the person sitting opposite of her. She didn’t see Cuffs Alister, member of some Ragmarket gang. She didn’t see the demon-spawned good-for-nothing boy she had tried to keep in check half her life. All she saw was her sixteen year old son, tired to the bone from days of travel, dark smudges under his eyes. How come she hadn’t noticed this before? She wiped her face clean of all emotion with her hands, and softly said, “Go get some sleep, now, Hanson. You look as if you’ve gone to the Breaker and back.” For once, he did as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Words cannot describe how much I dislike Sali Alister. Though I understand that she is the way she is due to a very difficult life, and definitely see her as a victim of the unfair circumstances in which she has to survive, I absolutely can't forgive her for the way she treats her son. So I tried to write her as frustrating and antagonizing as possible, but - hopefully - without going overboard and still keeping it realistic.
> 
> If you'd like to know what this whole 'conversation' was like for Han: the next story is written from his perspective, but to make it a bit more interesting, Han's story starts a few months prior to Sali's, so there's not a 100% overlap in the events.


	2. Son and big brother, breadwinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more or less the same story, but from Han's point of view.
> 
> While writing this, I was toying around with the concept of the unreliable narrator. In my opinion, every narrator is unreliable to some extent, purely due to the fact that (almost) everyone thinks the way they see the world is the truth. In this story, I tried to create some tension, by describing what mother and son are thinking while they're interacting, but also their impressions of each other at certain moments.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_This is going to be a rough day_ , Han thought shortly after waking up. And that said a lot, considering how his life was shaping up so far. It was still dark outside, but just moments before dawn. He was lucky Cat was an early riser, too, so he didn’t need to wake her. When he found her, she was sitting cross-legged on her mattress, fully dressed, and was cleaning her knives.

“Walk with me,” Han said, using their secret phrase for when they wanted to be alone. Cat unfolded herself and followed him outside. He needn’t tell her where they were going. Without a word, they went straight to the rooftop of the abandoned warehouse on Pilfer Alley. Normally, they would sit shoulder to shoulder when they wanted to talk, or their bodies would touch in more than one place when they … _didn’t_ want to talk. Today, though, Cat was sitting with her back against the wall of the adjacent building, her arms wrapped around her pulled-up legs, and he was kneeling in front of her, so he could face her.

Han was an excellent wordsmith. He could talk almost anyone into doing almost anything, but he didn’t want to insult Cat by sugarcoating what he had to tell her. He took a deep breath, before he simply said, “I need you to replace me as streetlord.” Her eyes asked all the questions her mouth wouldn’t. _Why? Where are you going? What about us?_ Han pretended he didn’t notice, to make it easier for both of them. Cat tore her eyes away from his and made a point of looking over his shoulder. “I have no right to ask this of you,” Han continued. Her rigid posture said: _that’s right, you don’t_. “But I’m asking anyway. They’ll all swear to you, and you’ll be rum at it for sure. And who knows, maybe the whacks will be even better with you in charge.” With the first two comments he’d just stated the obvious. That last one had been a failed attempt to lighten the mood. Cat remained silent.

“Listen, I’ll be out of town for a while. I need to… well, I just got to go somewhere else. That should also give you the chance to get your game going, to let it be known the new streetlord of the Raggers an’t messing around. I will return to Ragmarket, but I won’t be with the Raggers anymore, you understand? So you got to take over for me. Please.” After the longest of silences, Cat inclined her head, once. Han knew this was the best he’d get out of her. He also knew they’d just sealed the deal. He let his eyes rove over Cat’s face, the curve of her neck, her muscular arms, and her incredibly strong, graceful hands. He badly wanted to kiss her, to hold her and comfort her, or to have her comfort _him_. Right now, he would’ve settled for just touching her arm, but he sensed even that would make her explode, and that she’d probably take her knife to him if he tried. Since there was nothing left to say, Han made his way to climb down again.

During the whole length of their conversation, Cat’s street face had been in place, showing nothing of what was going on inside her. She must’ve thought he wouldn’t look back, but he did. So the last thing he saw of her was how she shattered into pieces.

Haunted by Cat’s face, Han wandered through the streets of Ragmarket. He wasn’t just thinking about that broken look she’d given him on the rooftop, but also about her smile, chipped incisor and all. He could vividly picture her eyes, that seemed black in one light, and grayish brown in the other, he remembered how her skin felt under his fingers, and the brush of her lips on his. Resolutely, he pushed all thoughts of her from his mind. Losing people one way or another was part of Ragger life, so he’d just have to learn to deal with this loss, too.

The gloomy day matched perfectly with Han’s gloomy mood. It was raining, and though it was late May, the rain felt almost icy on his face and hands. Without realizing, Han had crossed into Southbridge. Probably not the best place for him to be, but he supposed he should be fine, as long as he kept his hood up, head down, and cuffs covered. Just when he almost couldn’t feel his hands anymore from the cold, he saw an inviting tavern sign. It depicted a keg and a crown, and the tavern was aptly named The Keg and Crown. Han’s stomach told him it might be a good idea to take a look inside, so he did. He was pleased to see there were no other patrons there at this relatively early hour, but even so, he chose a private table in the corner and sat facing the door. Despite his own bleak mood, Han befriended the Keg and Crown’s proprietor in no time. He was a burly man named Matieu, whose tattooed arms and marked hands suggested he hadn’t always been an upstanding citizen. Matieu was quick to laugh, and had the rare gift of making you feel welcome and giving you space at the same time. Before long, they were sharing stories and exchanging news on what was going on on either side of the river. Han took care to keep his wrists covered, unsure how Matieu would regard the dubious honor of entertaining Cuffs Alister in his establishment.

By the time the conversation had dried up, Han’s cloak was dry, too, an indication that a couple of hours had passed. It was time for him to go.

Luckily, it had stopped raining, and the sun was peeking through the clouds. Judging by its position, it might be that time of day when Mari would still be in school, and his mother could be found at home between two work shifts. Han fervently hoped this would be the case, as he let his feet carry him through the familiar streets and alleys of Ragmarket to his once-home, a room over a stable.

The Maker must’ve been in a really good mood today, for he got lucky on both counts: Mam was there, and Mari wasn’t. The room was even smaller than he remembered, and felt cramped and oppressive, despite the few pieces of furniture that occupied it. His mother, too, seemed to have shrunk, and not just because Han himself had grown taller. She was polishing some surface, which most likely had been clean to begin with, staring into space with glassy eyes. Han didn’t want to startle her, but wasn’t sure what would be best in that case: say something or keep quiet. Eventually, he cleared his throat, indeed startling her. Mam was too stunned to say or do anything, thus providing him with an opening to approach her and explain why he was here. “I’m not with the Raggers anymore, Mam,” he said, hoping she’d be pleased to hear that. She just stared at him, wide-eyed. “I plan on going to Marisa Pines Camp for the summer, and see if I can make some money for us there by helping Willo.” Still, nothing. It was as if Mam was frozen in time. “And after that, I’d like to… If it’s okay – ah,… Would you let me live with you and Mari again?” Now, _that_ did elicit a response from his mother. With considerable force, she slapped him across the face. Reflexively, Han brought a hand to his glowing cheek. If he was being honest, during his Ragger years, he had taken much worse than that virtually on a weekly basis. But still, it hurt more somehow to be struck by one of your own.

Now that she had come to life again, Mam immediately started lecturing him on how she didn’t raise her son to be a thief, how her house wasn’t a safe haven for criminals, how trouble had a way of finding them on its own, without him, Hanson Alister, inviting it over. A few times she gave him a rough shake to drive home what she was saying. More than once she mentioned she wanted him to quit running the streets before she’d even consider to let him move back in with her and Mari. It made Han wonder whether he’d actually told her he wasn’t with the Raggers anymore, or had only intended to do so.

Han let her words wash over him until the flow became a trickle, and eventually dried up. Then, Mam wrapped her arms around him, tight enough to make it difficult for him to breathe. “You can come home in September,” she said with her head resting against his shoulder.

Upon hearing that, Han got caught in a tangle of emotions. He felt relief, because he’d be able to protect his mother and sister from up close, but also because he’d get to experience the freedom of summer in the Spirit Mountains first. He was worried about _how_ exactly he should provide for his family without slide-hand, and what it would be like to share such a small space with two people again, especially since the walls seemed to be closing in on him already. And as an undercurrent to it all, he felt a profound sense of loss in the pit of his stomach.

Han left for Marisa Pines Camp that same day. Just as he’d hoped and expected, he was welcomed there with no questions asked and no judgement passed. He hadn’t fostered with the clan over the last three summers, but still it was surprisingly easy to fall back into his old routines, as if no time had passed since he’d last seen Willo, Fire Dancer, Digging Bird, and the others. He spent most of his days helping Willo, by gathering herbs and other ingredients for her healing remedies, and paid close attention while she was preparing them. She showed her appreciation by paying him handsomely for his efforts, though more than a few times she’d sent him away, sternly telling him he should also enjoy the fair summer weather and the company of his friends. On those days he’d go hunting or swimming with Dancer and Bird. In the evenings almost everyone at Marisa Pines Camp would gather around the campfire to break bread, share stories, or amuse themselves with music and dancing. All too soon it was time to go home again and take on his new responsibilities.

It was just a week before his sixteenth name day, when Han returned to Ragmarget, and the the closer he got to his once-again-home, the slower his walking pace became. But inevitably, he arrived at the stable, and unable to put it off any longer, he climbed up the stairs.

He found Mam sitting at the table, physically present, but her mind far away. Mari was curled up in front of the hearth, drawing. As soon as his sister spotted Han, she barreled into him, and hugged his leg with her appallingly bony arms. Even though Mari had almost doubled in both age and height since the last time he’d seen her, she still remembered him. More than that, she still _loved_ him. Han swallowed hard, as he stroked her soft blond hair and held her close to him. After a few minutes, he felt Mam’s burning gaze, and looked up to greet her.

Han knew he was in trouble as soon as Mam sent Mari away on an errand, clearly intending to talk to him in private. He didn’t know exactly what kind of trouble, yet, but he guessed he’d find out soon enough. Han could hardly keep his eyes open after the wearisome journey home. Still, when Mam ordered him to sit down, he obeyed out of force of habit.

“You’re almost sixteen now, a man grown,” Mam announced, “It’s long time you stop running with thieves, and street rats, and whatnots, …” _Ah, that._ _I should’ve known_ , Han thought as Mam’s voice continued drilling into his head, “… taking what an’t yours for the taking, thinking of no one else but yourself, not caring what Mari…” With that, something inside him snapped.

“Hey, now!” he exclaimed, slamming both hands down on the table top, hard enough to make his palms sting. “That’s not…” Spurred by the look Mam’s gave him, he bit back whatever else he’d wanted to say, and looked at her levelly. His mother just got going, it seemed.

“Your days on the streets are over as of now, before you’ll end up in gaol, or worse. You an’t of much use alive, but you won’t be of _any_ use when you’re dead. If nothing else, at least think about what losing you will do to your sister. And what kind of example you’re setting for her, living the way you do.” He’d managed to shrug off most of her words, but when Mam mentioned Mari again, it was as if someone had attached a hook to his gut and was vigorously tugging at it. As if he didn’t know that! As if Mari wasn’t the prime reason he had quit the life in the first place. Han tensed all over. _Keep calm, now, Alister_ , he told himself, _just focus on something else_. He trained his eyes at the table top as he tried to remember the ingredients of a poultice to treat snakebite.

_Willow bark, to dull the pain;_

_Chamomile, to calm the nerves, just the leaves;_

_Two parts of…something… to one part of clean water, mix well;_

Han was vaguely aware of his mother telling him to ‘get’ himself a decent job, though she didn’t specify how exactly he should accomplish that. There were far too few fair jobs to go around as it was, and he reckoned none of those were intended for former streetlords with a reputation of being ruthless and violent. Maybe he could venture into Southbridge tomorrow, and go talk to that cove from the Keg and Crown he’d met in the spring. Who knew, he might be in need of someone to clean the privies, or something like that. Han couldn’t say he looked forward to it, but what other choices did he have?

He’d been lost in thought for a while, but tuned in again just in time for the grand finale. “If I so much as hear a rumor about the illustrious streetlord _Cuffs Alister_ ,” Mam was saying, her voice thick with accussation, “You’d be best off not to come home at all.”

Han wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say, if anything, so he said nothing. He felt Mam’s fingers close around his jaw, tight as a vise. Instead of pulling free, Han let her lift his head until they locked eyes. Mam scanned his face, as if she were searching for something. The silence had become all but unbearable, when she spoke again.

“Promise me you’ll quit the gang life.”

Han discarded a couple of possible retorts (the kindest one among them being _I didn’t know my word counted for something around here_ ), before he landed on the safest option.

“I promise, Mam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The title is part of a longer quote from The Demon King, where Han's thinking about his different identities: "There was Han Alister, son and big brother, breadwinner, deal-maker, and small-time conniver. There was Hunts Alone, who'd been adopted by Marisa Pines and wished he could melt into the clans for good. And finally, Cuffs, petty criminal and street fighter, onetime streetlord of the Ragger gang and enemy of the Southies."
> 
> This story was intended to describe his transition from being Cuffs the streetlord to his role of son, brother and breadwinner.


End file.
